


In the Shadows

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Eventual Romance, Exorcisms, Flirting, Ghosts, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “A possession,” Jason repeated blandly. Christ, he’d probably need to stop by a church to stock up on holy water. “As in a spirit bouncing from body to body, just for shits and giggles?”“Well, I doubt it’s for something so mundane,” Tim replied. “There’s usually a reason.”





	In the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> For the supernatural prompt fill for day two of JayTim Week 2018!

Something stank. And it wasn’t just the reek of Gotham, the foul stench of rotting garbage and the sweating morass of humanity all packed together in the summertime heat. No, if Jason thought for a second that those were the only scents of note, then there was no way he could call himself a crimefighter, even if he was often toeing the line of the law and made the occasional foray onto the other side. 

No, this reek was redolent of his gut screaming one thing at him while his eyes said another. If there was one thing years as a gun-toting, Batman-trained, vigilante taught him, it was to trust his gut. 

The scene before him was set up perfectly. A little _too_ perfectly. One dealer, two users, all shot execution style, one bullet each right into the brain. The dark alley hid the blood splatter that would undoubtedly be sprayed on the brick and mortar behind them. White powder and pills were scattered across the ground, ripped from their little plastic baggies to shine brightly in stark contrast against the dark, grimy pavement. Whoever did this was trying to send a message. 

But to who? And why? These were two very important questions and standing here with his thumb up his ass wasn’t going to get him the answers. 

This was the third set of murders he’d encountered in almost as many weeks and he couldn’t help thinking this was aimed at him. That the Red Hood was failing to keep things in line. That the Red Hood was weak and couldn’t protect those who needed to be protected. But honestly, he couldn’t help those who didn’t want it. There was no stopping crime, but it could be controlled. Managed.

Someone apparently didn’t think the same. 

He should call this in, let the police do their mediocre job and be done with it, another file added on top of some overworked and underpaid detective who didn’t give a rat’s ass. But this was starting to get personal. He needed a clue, a lead, anything to go on so that he could catch whoever thought they could get away with murder in _his_ territory. 

The stench of ripening bodies made his decision for him. 

And maybe, just maybe, he’d get some fun out of this. 

~*~*~*~ 

“God, I think I want to vomit,” Tim muttered as he knelt carefully in front of the bodies, pointedly avoiding the dark puddle of blood mixed with rainwater and god knows what else. Trash pickup couldn’t come soon enough. 

“You can puke later,” Jason growled, leaning against the opposite wall, arms firmly crossed over his broad chest. Dealing with his replacement often was an exercise of his patience as the younger man managed to push buttons he didn’t even know he had (as well as a few he did). But as much as he griped about him, Tim Drake did come in handy sometimes. 

The replacement wasn’t entirely human. Last name aside, there was wolf demon blood in him somewhere (Tim refused to say how recent, even to Bruce), along with something else that managed to mitigate the urge to howl at the moon and instead gave him some rather extraordinary abilities he could draw upon at any time. Dick suspected Tim was part fae the one time they spoke about it, the two of them standing back and watching while the younger did his thing. Jason didn’t care, not really, but it would explain a lot, especially Tim’s massive aversion to artificial sweeteners. The few fae he ever dealt with were so strung out on artificial sugar that they were as numb and dull as any crack addict. 

Who’d have thought the fae were as susceptible to one white powder as humans were to another? The irony wasn’t lost on him. 

“I plan to, all over your boots,” Tim retorted as he continued scenting. That was his true talent, the one all the Bats called upon him for, even if he was utterly brilliant in his own right. When the going got tough, bring in Red Robin. Even if he somehow lost the scent of whoever the hell they were chasing, he’d at least manage to track them to an area where traffic cameras and other CCTV devices would do the rest. 

“You do and one of these boots are gonna find their way up your ass before you can blink.” 

“There are other things I’d rather have up my ass, thanks,” Tim retorted, not even missing a beat. It was one of the things that drove Jason crazy, just how quick witted and unflappable the young man was. This sort of banter was new though, something he was still trying to wrap his brain around after the first time it happened a couple months back. He liked it, that much he was certain of, but he also knew better than to think about it here. Emotions caused spikes in a person’s scent, so he kept his tapped down tight. 

“I really don’t care what kinda kinky ass shit you get up to in your free time,” Jason snapped back, a moment too late and they both knew it. “I’m sure if you ask nicely, Dickieboy will give you a hand.”

“It’s not his hand I’m interested in.” The words barely reached Jason’s ears when Tim abruptly stood and walked deeper into the alley, nostrils flaring as he went. 

There was a time and a place for what passed as flirty banter between them and this sure as hell wasn’t it. Jason stopped himself from following after Tim, obeying for once the hand the man raised in warning. He got it. Didn’t want him contaminating the scent of whatever it was that caught his attention. 

Tim came back almost as quickly, passing right by him like he wasn’t even there. He also got that. Once Tim had the scent, he was like a bloodhound and all anyone could do was hang on. But rather than exit the alley like Jason expected, he came back.

“We may have a problem here,” he announced. 

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“No, I mean we may have a real problem.” Tim turned a serious gaze on him. “I think we’re dealing with a possession.” 

Jason was pretty well versed in the supernatural. He better be considering he himself was undead. Not the brain devouring zombie kind, hell no. To be fair, no one knew quite what he was. Dead one day, living the next (or rather a couple weeks later; waking up six feet under had been a shocker to say the least). He didn’t have any desire for a pint of O negative and he downright relished a day where he could just be out in the sun. Damian had offered to shoot him again to see if he’d come back a second time, but Bruce quickly put a stop to it. 

“A possession,” he repeated blandly. Christ, he’d probably need to stop by a church to stock up on holy water. “As in a spirit bouncing from body to body, just for shits and giggles?” 

“Well, I doubt it’s for something so mundane,” Tim replied. “There’s usually a reason.” 

“Yeah, well this is the third set of bodies I’ve found like this in the last month. I think the reason is pretty clear. I take it one of these stiffs was the ride in and they rode someone else out?” 

Tim nodded and pointed to one of the victims. She looked a little worse for the wear, her eyes still frozen in horror from the moment of her death. Now that Jason knew to look closer, he noticed her body was stiffer compared to the others, as though rigor mortis was already setting in. 

He sighed, seeing where this was going. “The ghost kills its host if it rides them too long?” 

“Pretty sure. It drains their life force. Depending on the person, they probably just feel tired at first and then more and more exhausted the longer the ghost holds on. I’d give it a week at most before they drop dead for no apparent reason.” 

“And now they’ve got a brand new ride. Great. Just fucking great.” 

“It’s a fae ride too.” Tim knelt down and rubbed the tip of his gloved hand in the white powder scattered across the ground. “If I were to guess, I’d say the ghost latched on to one of the dealers.” 

“So which way did they go?” Jason didn’t have time for this. He was already melting under the weight of his gear and didn’t relish the thought of a long pursuit. There was also the matter of getting his hands on some cold iron now that a fae was involved. A crowbar usually did the trick, but he had a definite aversion to them. 

His replacement had the gall to smirk at him. “As if you’re going to find them on your own. You’ll need my help, Little Red Hood.” 

“Oh, piss off. I get caught carrying a picnic basket _one fucking time_.” Tim’s loved calling him Little Red Hood ever since. Even Dickie picked up on it, much to his annoyance. 

“You were wearing a red hoodie, how can I not?” Tim sobered quickly, his teasing demeanor dropping like the glamor he wore out in public to hide his ears and tail as soon as he got home. “Seriously, Jason, you’re going to need my help. Suck it up.” 

The opening was too perfect. “I can think of other things I’d like to suck on.” He winked, even though the effect was lost from under his helmet. It still made Tim grin, revealing sharp canines much longer than any human would ever sport. “Now which way did he go?” 

“Up.” Tim pointed to a fire escape several yards away. 

Jason pulled out his grapple gun, Tim doing the same. “Let’s get some fresh air then.” 

“There is no fresh air in Gotham.” 

They shot their lines in almost perfect unison and rode them to the rooftop. Jason hung back while Tim scouted around, following only once he had the scent and started jogging. Red Robin didn’t look like much, especially next to someone like the Red Hood, but that lean body of his was made for running. He could outpace anyone, which drove Damian up the wall as it was something else he could never beat Tim at. Superior genes his ass. 

A few buildings over, Tim stopped and cast around, pacing first one direction, then another. His growl was audible over the sound of the late night traffic below. “Shit.” 

“What?” Jason had to ask, even if it was fairly obvious at this point. “You lose them?” 

“No,” Tim stated. “But the scent goes _straight down the side of the building_.” 

“The hell?” Jason surged forward and gripped the ledge, looking down. It was at least ten stories of apartments, straight down with no balconies or anything else to provide a grip to navigate. 

“What kind of fae are we dealing with?” Tim asked rhetorically, his foot up on the ledge like he was about to toss himself over to follow the scent further. He readied his grapple line, a move Jason mimicked. 

“You’re gonna figure that out before me.” 

“They’re bleeding though and it’s slowing them down. One of the victims may have gotten a shot in before they died.” 

“Small favors. After you, buttercup.” 

If looks could kill, Jason would be dead again. They swung over the side of the building, slower this time so that Tim could track the scent. Not that it did any good as their boots hit the sidewalk below. But Tim picked up the trail immediately and started running, his black cape streaming out behind him. 

A few more blocks, down another alley, and over a fence they went. The heat was weighing down on them both, but they pushed on. Fat clouds, sickly yellow in color from the city lights reflecting off the underside, loomed overhead and Jason heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. It was a race against time and Tim became more and more intent on his prey, just like the wolf he was. 

It made him wonder if Tim _could_ change form. He already had the ears and the tail, not to mention claws he didn’t hesitate to break out when provoked. Damian was on the receiving end of those more often than not, at least according to Dick whenever he dropped by to chat about shit Jason didn’t care about. That particular story was funny as hell though even if that wasn’t why Dick told it to him. 

They were back in the labyrinth of alleys that made up much of the Bowery when Tim held up an arm, slowing down to the point where he was silently crouched in a deep shadow, peering cautiously around a crumbling corner. Nodding in satisfaction, he tugged Jason a few yards further back. 

“She’s just up ahead. Looks like she’s passed out up against a dumpster.” 

“She?” Not that it made any difference to him. A woman was just as capable of doing dumb shit as a man when the mood struck. Fae drug dealers were rare, but not uncommon. They were always dark fae, the ones who enjoyed fucking with and ruining the lives of mere mortals. 

Was the ghost a woman too? The previous host had been female. Did having the double X chromosome make it easier to take over a body if the deceased person had it too? Or was it a mental thing? Jason mentally shook himself. Unless the ghost managed to jump ship on them somehow, the questions didn’t matter.   

Tim nodded, a little smile toying at his lips. “I didn’t say that earlier?” 

“No.” Jackass. This was one of the (few) reasons why he hated working with his replacement. His smug superiority almost always managed to rub him the wrong way and piss him the fuck off. “Game plan?” he asked instead, resisting the urge to punch the younger man. 

The little smile grew. Tim could scent his frustration, the asshole. “We try and separate them. I can deal with the fae and you handle the ghost. What have you got on you for an exorcism?” 

Jason opened his jacket and rummaged around in one of his inner pockets. He’d never performed an exorcism before, but he knew the ritual. He pulled out a large silver crucifix and strung the cord over his neck. “I got this but the holy water on me is in my hollow points. Will that work?” Those had been fun to make. He’d rather cast silver bullets for his vampire kit. 

Tim eyed the crucifix and shrugged. “It will if you believe in it.” 

“I’ve choked a lord of hell with this, you bet your ass I believe.” The proof was in the pudding. Watching a demon’s face melt off was enough to get his ass to church at least every couple of weeks. Helped with getting holy water too. “What about you?” 

His replacement’s lips pulled back into another one of those toothy smirks. He unsnapped one of the compartments in his bandoliers and tossed a small bottle at him. “Here’s more holy water. Let’s hope it’s enough.” 

Of fucking course Tim carried holy water, even if the stuff was just as likely to hurt him as it was whoever he threw it at. Jason noticed he didn’t say how he was going to separate the ghost from the fae it currently inhabited. “Let’s hope I remember all the prayers.” 

Jason changed out the clip of a gun to the holy water bullets. No shooting until he absolutely had to with that one. The other…well, iron was a component of steel, so it would at least sting a little. 

Together, he and Tim rounded the corner to come face to face with their quarry. 

_She_ was an operative term as Jason couldn’t immediately tell what gender the creature was. Definitely not human, not with those little horns coming out of her forehead and dark skin that shone like the midnight sky with some inner light all pureblood fae seemed to have. Disheveled, dirty, and there was an underlying stench of rotted meat that made him want to gag. If he could smell it, he could only imagine how Tim felt. When this was over, he owed the Replacement dinner at the very least. 

He’d even cook. 

The creature jerked awake, dark slitted eyes gleaming in the shadows. She hissed at them, to which Tim replied with a low warning growl of his own. 

“You’re the hound of the Bat,” a raspy voice whispered accusingly. “The big bad wolf works with the Hood now?” 

“I go where I’m needed,” Tim replied, fanning out to the side to make himself the primary target. 

The creature, whatever she was, shook with unsuppressed laughter. At least Jason thought it was laughter. There was a lot of hissing and spitting sounds involved. Her lips pulled back, revealing a mouth full of sharp incisors. The spirit had chosen its host well this time. “You are nothing but a _dog_ , chained and leashed by his _human_ master,” she spat venomously. “Betraying your own kind by pretending to be one of them.” 

Jason started to reassess if the ghost was human. Only fae ever spoke like that, unless the host was more in control than they thought. 

“I walk in both worlds,” Tim stated, his own voice deeper than Jason had ever heard it before. “Besides, what makes you think I have a leash in the first place?” 

“Enough with the dom/sub innuendoes,” Jason spoke up. He raised his gun and adjusted his stance, not removing his eyes from the creature. There were more important questions to be asked. “Why are you killing all those people?” 

The woman hissed again and moved, slithering from one shadow to the next, but her gleaming eyes remained fixed. Just how big was she? “Because you won’t, Red Hood. You won’t do what has to be done.” 

“Yeah? And what’s that?” 

“ _Kill them all_.” Her voice echoed in the dank alley, seemingly from all around them. “They took my baby from me. Gave her the powder. The pills. _Must kill them all_.” 

Jason stepped forward, but Tim raised an arm to bar his way. “You’re killing your host,” he told the possessed creature. “Whatever your problem is with druggies and drug dealers, don’t take it out on this person. They’re innocent.” 

That was relative if they were dark fae. 

More hissing met their ears and Jason was prepared to swear on a stack of Bibles that the shadows were gathering themselves to leap on them. He realized then what the host creature was. A shadow-weaver, a type of dark fae who only materialized a physical form at night when on the human plane. The single story he’d heard about them said that in the fae realms, they could grow to be the size of a troll. 

How big was this one? 

“Do you have a light?” Tim asked quietly, his body tensing as he prepared for the pending fight. 

“I got a flare.” 

“Even better. Light it and hold it over your head.” 

Jason didn’t think twice, freeing one hand to dig into his pockets. Always be prepared, just like a fucking Boy Scout. 

The creature seemed to realize what he was about to do. She hissed again and the shadows moved, closing upon them and enveloping them in darkness. 

If there was one thing Jason didn’t like, it was solid darkness. His heart rate skyrocketed involuntarily, even as he shoved his gun back into its holster to find his lighter. What a time for it to get lost in the pocket of his jacket. He drew a panicked breath as his fingers fumbled around for it. Light. He needed light. Even just a single spark of it… 

A solid figure pressed against his side. “Light it, Hood!” 

Tim. Tim was with him. He wasn’t alone in the darkness, not this time. His fingers clasped around the lighter and he drew it out of his pocket. The little flame didn’t seem like much, but when he set it against the tip of the flare, it hissed and sparked as it caught. The lurid red light was infinitely better than nothing and Jason raised his arm, holding the flare over his head, swiftly swapping out the lighter for his gun. 

He turned his attention back to the shadows. Even with the lenses of his helmet capable of differentiating between the various light spectrums, he couldn’t make out a thing. Only the cold pressing in against him and while it was a welcome relief after the warm and muggy night, it wouldn’t stay that way for long unless they did something. 

“Any ideas, Red?” 

His replacement growled menacingly. “Just one.” From under his long cape, he withdrew a syringe and a small bottle. 

Under his helmet, Jason’s eyes widened. That bottle could be one of two things and one was deadly to the fae. “You carry that shit on you? Are you fucking crazy?” 

“I am _partially_ human.” 

“Yeah? Which part?” Jason couldn’t help but ask as Tim deftly filled the syringe. 

“Come over later and find out.” 

Now there was a challenge if Jason ever heard one. One that he would gladly accept, especially if it meant he would get to wipe that smug little smirk off his replacement’s face. Maybe even a few other things…this time, he purposefully let his emotions well up inside, embracing the tingling heat that was his desire for the man beside him. Okay, part of it was his lust for a good fight too, which was also coming to a head as the crazed voice of the shadow-weaver spoke up. 

“You will not have the chance.” With that, the shadows started lashing at them, striking hard wherever the light from the flare couldn’t touch. 

“I take it you have a plan?” Jason shouted as he spun around, trying to keep the flare high as he attempted to evade the solid blows. He grunted at the hard hit on his back and tried to arch away from it. 

“Of course! Shoot when you hear the scream!” Tim lunged into the darkness, following after something only he could see. 

Sometimes, he really wanted to strangle the younger man. Just because he was part demon didn’t make him immune to dangerous stunts like this. Or gunshot wounds. But Jason also trusted Tim, even if he’d never exactly told him so. There was a reason why, out of all the Bats, he liked him the most. 

The little shit often reminded him of himself. 

From the darkness, there came a loud scream. The shadows retreated and Jason whirled around, raising his gun to find his target. Tim was wrestling with the shadow-weaver, trying to pin her to the ground, but he was woefully undersized against the much larger creature, even if he was managing to hold his own. 

Jason didn’t hesitate and fired. There was plenty of body mass for him to hit without worrying about Tim. 

The shadow-weaver _shrieked_ in agony, even more than when Tim plunged the iron nitrate into her body. Jason knew instantly that this was the spirit’s reaction to the blessed water in the tip of his bullet. He fired again and the creature convulsed like she was in the midst of a seizure. 

Tim flung her off, his slim build belying the strength inherent in his bloodline. The shadow-weaver struck the grimy wall with a sickening thud before she fell limply to the ground. 

Neither Jason nor Tim relaxed. If anything, their tension ratchetted up a notch as they waited. The spirit was bound to try and escape the body and try for a new host. The question was, which of them would it be? Jason was confident his blessed crucifix would keep him safe, but Tim? He wasn’t so sure. And he really didn’t want to put a bullet in the other man. Not when he had _plans_ for later. 

Jason felt the air grow chill around him. Dropping the flare, he raised a hand to the cross around his neck. “I’ve got a string of Hail Mary’s I can unleash at the drop of a dime. Gotta admit, you caught me on a bad night. Fresh out of holy water, but if you really want to feel it, I can shoot ya again.” He started muttering the Apostle’s Creed under his breath. Time for a trip around the rosary. 

The cold clung to him, but couldn’t do more than that. For all of Jason’s bluff and bluster, he did believe, even if he didn’t understand just what purpose God brought him back for. His belief was based on what he could see and it didn’t take an idiot to realize what kind of power was behind someone who held to the faith while waving a cross at a demon. Or used it to choke one. That had been barrels of fun; he’d stunk like rotted fish for the better part of a week afterwards. 

Tim rose to his feet and slowly made his way towards Jason. “Hold still, Hood.” 

Jason had no plans to move and kept up his prayers, switching to a Hail Mary without missing a beat. He imagined he had his rosary in hand and kept going, visualizing the next bead. This ghost was _not_ going to possess him. Belatedly, he remembered the bottle of holy water Tim gave him before. He was supposed to be exorcising the ghost, not holding it off. 

Holstering the gun, Jason drew out the holy water and popped the cap. He grabbed his crucifix and held it out before him. His prayer grew louder and the cold retreated. A few feet away, Tim held out some sort of stone that shone brighter the more the cold retreated. Jason pointedly ignored the magic in front of him and focused on his words and the power in them. 

Soon, all he felt was the steamy Gotham night pressing in around him. He kept the prayer going though, making it all the way around the rosary before Tim finally indicated he could stop. It seemed like they were both in better safe than sorry mode. 

“What’s the rock?” Jason asked. It looked like a sullen yellow sun in the red light of the flare that still burned on the ground. 

“A purified crystal,” Tim replied easily. “I had other plans for it, but whatever. Shit happens. Pour the holy water over it.” He held out the stone. 

“It’s not going to hurt you?” Jason checked, wanting to be sure. Tim was part demon after all. 

“Only if I’m not wearing gloves.” 

“Your funeral.” Jason shrugged and poured the small bottle of water over the stone and muttered another prayer as he did. The stone glowed red momentarily before brightening to a brilliant white. He could feel the difference immediately, the heaviness in the air dissipating as the ghost was finally put to rest. It wasn’t a traditional exorcism to be sure, but it worked. 

Tim shook the water off his gloved hand and held the now white stone up to his eye, inspecting it. “Well, that turned out better than I thought.” 

“You had no idea what would happen?” The urge to punch his replacement came back stronger than before. 

“I had an idea.” 

“You are the absolute worst sometimes, you know that?” 

“Does that mean you don’t want to come over now?” 

The sky chose that moment to release its fury, sharp stinging rain drenching them both in seconds. Jason looked up, relieved he still wore his helmet. Rather than curse it, he welcomed it, accepting the rain as the cleansing force it was. Did he want to go over to Tim’s place still? He glanced over at the man, standing there in the rain with his hopeful expression dimming the longer the silence dragged on. 

He couldn’t have that. But first, there was clean-up duty. Cops to be called and the body of a dead fae to be disposed of. “Send me the address. One hour.” 

~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Jason lay in Tim’s bed, bare as the day he was born. One arm was flung over his head and the other was curled around Tim, idly stroking the fur of his ears. He was tired and ached pleasantly. They had practically flung themselves at each other when he arrived earlier, bits and pieces of their uniforms flying across the apartment before they managed to fall onto the bed. 

Tim liked having his tail stroked, especially at the root where the dark fur emerged from the base of his spine. He also responded rather dramatically to having his ears rubbed. Jason had heard stories that his replacement was a tad touch deprived and he could see why, especially if these were the reactions he had whenever someone accidently got too close. 

Well, he had no problem with that, especially if they were alone. Jason laughed quietly to himself. This certainly wasn’t the way he imagined his night going, but he couldn’t find it in himself to complain much either. 

“What’s so funny?” Tim mumbled sleepily. 

“Nothing much.” Jason continued stroking Tim’s ears. The fur was incredibly soft. “Just that it took a possessed faerie to finally get us in bed together.” 

Tim chuckled quietly and wrapped an arm over Jason’s broad chest. He was a cuddler, even if it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Dickie. “I won’t tell if you don’t, Little Hood.” 

Jason tweaked the ear under his fingers and Tim winced, the other ear twitching in irritation. “I think I just proved how little I’m not.” 

“Still doesn’t make you the big bad wolf.” 

“Nope. But feel free to convince me later why I should start calling you that.”

 


End file.
